


closer

by fakeplasticlily



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeplasticlily/pseuds/fakeplasticlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a chocolate cake in front of Makoto, and it's burning him up from the inside. (completely self-indulgent smut)</p>
            </blockquote>





	closer

**Author's Note:**

> posted this on tumblr for makoto's birthday and also for my princess vale's! just got around to posting it here a month too late because i'm lazy.
> 
> the cake referred to here is from [this](http://static2.minitokyo.net/view/08/20/636008.jpg) official art that was featured in PASH! magazine.

It’s the chocolate.

Of course it’s the chocolate. It has to be the chocolate, Makoto muses, heart sinking in resignation as he stares down at the piece of cake on his plate. 

It can't be anything _but_ the chocolate, he reassures himself, giving himself a little shake—it _can't_  be anything but the chocolate, burning him from the inside and making him feel like he could go up in flames any moment now.

He’s going to keep his eyes on it, he decides. He’s not going to look up. And he’s going to keep admiring the intricately arranged layers of chocolate and cream, the icing sugar letter  _A_  that had come with his slice, the little dolphin and orca toppers leaning close to each other on top, nearly close enough for a kiss—

Of course, that’s when the blood in his body rushes southwards again, and his last shred of resolve crumbles. Feeling almost light-headed, he looks up as though drawn by an invisible, irresistible force.

 _Shit_ , he thinks vaguely, as his eyes zero in on Haru, sitting across the table from him.  _Shit_ , the voices in his head repeat as every nerve ending in his body grows hyper-aware of Haru, with every little detail about him suddenly bursting into stark relief.

His blue, blue eyes, that must have been lit up with the steady fire as he baked this cake, the way they burned quietly whenever he applied himself to anything. (Or if there was a body of water anywhere within a fifty-foot radius.)

His long, smooth neck, that must have got dusted with flour as he distractedly passed a hand over it to wipe off some sweat.

His hands— _shit, his hands_ —that must have worked cleverly and carefully over the decorations, maybe shaking a little as he put the dolphin and the orca in place.

His face, that may have burned with a light blush as he decided to keep the dolphin and orca like this, almost nose to nose, practically about to kiss.

 _No, no, no_ , the Voice of Reason rears its head, he’s thinking too much again. It was enough that everyone had gone through the effort to throw him this party, he shouldn’t be projecting his own weird fantasies to Haru, who must have only been trying to be kind when he baked this cake for him. 

But instead of appreciating him and the others, every time he looks at the cake, he can only picture Haru making it, bent over the kitchen table in his apron over his jammers, brows furrowed in concentration as he decorates it with single-minded focus.

He’s the worst, the worst kind of pervert there ever was, because all he wants right now in the middle of this lovely party thrown for him by his friends, is to be alone with Haru, preferably balls deep inside him.

The sudden image that appears in his head sends the blood rushing into his cheeks, and he gets abruptly to his feet. Rin and Rei had been engaging in some borderline-friendly banter about some of the finer technicalities of the butterfly stroke, with Gou and Nagisa cheering them on respectively; they look up at him in unison.

Makoto very deliberately avoids looking in Haru’s general direction.

“Everything okay, Makoto-senpai?” asks Rei solemnly, pushing his glasses up his nose. Even Rin’s forehead creases in mild concern.

“Y-Yeah!” Makoto says, trying for chipper but probably hitting the mark a lot closer to hysterical instead. “I—I just need to go the bathroom, be a minute—”

“Makoto,” Haru says, and this is exactly what Makoto has been dreading for about the past twenty minutes. Heart racing, he raises his eyes to meet Haru’s.

“The cake,” says Haru, utterly deadpan. “Were you planning on taking it to the bathroom with you?”

Makoto stares at him for a second, then down at the plate still in his hand. “R-Right, of course!” he says, with a laugh that is intended to sound light and nonchalant but probably comes across as hysterical instead. Popping the entire slice in his mouth, he offers a ridiculously wide grin around the mouthful to everyone, and stumbles off towards the corridor, possibly knocking down several things in his path but barely noticing.

Hardly registering where he’s going, he heads through the familiar passages in Haru’s home, and ends up in a storeroom at the very back.

Closing the door, he leans his forehead against the doorframe, and breathes.  
  
He’s been half-hard for a while; probably since the moment Haru walked into the room, holding the cake that he’d obviously made. And this must make him a dirty, rotten pervert, but there’s just something about Haru going through the effort to make something that ridiculously cute for him that makes him want to completely  _wreck_  him.  
  
Makoto passes a hand over his eyes, wincing as his cock gives another treacherous twinge.  _This isn’t helping_. He needs to get these debauched thoughts out of his head, pay more attention to his friends who’d gone through the trouble of organising all this for him and bringing him such lovely presents, and—

Of course, that’s when Haru quietly pushes opens the door, and slips into the room.

“H-Haru?” says Makoto. “Er, what are you—I was just—looking for some… some toilet-paper, you’re out of toilet paper! Don’t know why I thought of looking for it here, how silly of me—”

“Makoto,” says Haru, and there’s something in the way he says his name that strikes him dumb every single time. He sounds authoritative now, and Makoto’s knees feel disturbingly weak. “Shut up,” he finishes, and pulls him close by the collar of his shirt.

The kiss stars off clumsy and wet and a little bit desperate, and before Makoto realises it he has Haru backed up against the door with his hands all over him.

“Haru—” he gasps, breaking away and trying very hard to ignore that trail of saliva that connected their lips, or Haru’s soft whine at the loss, or the way his head followed his, trying to meet his mouth again.

“Haru, wait, I’m sorry,” he says miserably, “I’m sorry I can’t stop thinking about you right now. I’m sorry that all I want is to be alone with you, when I should be paying attention to everyone else too, for throwing me this wonderful party. I’m sorry I just really want to… do bad things to you right now, Haru, really... really bad things. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

Haru turns his face away, and he’s blushing, all the way to the tips of his ears. Makoto squeezes his eyes shut and hides his face in Haru’s shoulder, because his boyfriend is too ridiculously cute for his own good, and he’s only human.

Haru gently pushes Makoto off him, turns to open the door, and walks off without a word.

Puzzled, Makoto waits a moment to bring his hormones under control before following him outside.

“Makoto?” He’s surprised to hear Haru calling him from the living room, where everyone is. “Didn’t your mother say you had guests coming over for dinner? What time did she say that was?”

Blinking in confusion, Makoto steps into the room. There’s a strange look in Haru’s eyes that on another day he may have been able to construe, but right now he’s too busy being a teenage boy distracted by the lines and dips and curves of his boyfriend’s body to notice.

“Oh, right,” Haru says, clicking his tongue. “They said seven, didn’t they?”

Dimly, Makoto notes that the clock on the wall reads a quarter to seven.

“Wah!” Nagisa cries out rapturously, eyes wide and reverent. “Now it’s Haru-chan being the dutiful wife, instead of Mako-chan as usual! You two have truly earned the name of Iwatobi power couple!”

"Quiet, Nagisa," Rei chides. "Ah, we shouldn’t be intruding anymore then, Makoto-senpai," he continues seriously.

"Yeah," sighs Gou, getting to her feet. "Happy birthday again though, Makoto-senpai!" she cries, clasping her hands together.

"Haru, if you won’t be doing anything right now, let’s head off to Samezuka for a race," says Rin, pulling on his jacket.

 _But he’ll be doing me_ , a traitorous voice in Makoto’s head blurts out at once, and he has to pretend to be rubbing his face on his sleeve to hide his flush.

Luckily, Haru answers promptly enough. “I have homework, though,” he says with a shrug. “Catch you later.”

"Tch." Disgruntled, Rin sets off towards the door. Halfway there, he pauses. Scratching the back of his neck, he tilts his head sideways in Makoto’s general direction. "Yeah, um, have a good birthday and stuff," he mutters noncommittally.

"I already have, though!" Makoto cries, wringing his hands. And it’s true—from the bottom of his heart, he’s grateful for everything his friends have done. "Thank you, everyone!" He glances around at them all, and resolves to make it up to them somehow—maybe take up a job over the summer to help pay for another training camp—because he’s a terrible, terrible person who doesn’t deserve their love, and he’s just caught Haru looking at him with his rare, tender smiles, and he really, really needs the others to leave so he can kiss him right now.

"Nagisa!" calls Rei, breaking the lull; he’s been sitting at the table all this while, wolfing down as much as cake as he can before he’s noticed. "Makoto-senpai’s getting late!"

"Er—," Makoto flushes, palming the back of his head, but Haru answers, "Yeah, he is," and pointedly glances from the clock to the door.

There’s a few more rounds of ‘Happy birthday!’s and ‘Thank you’s and light-hearted chatter as jackets are pulled on and shoes slipped into, with Makoto all the while trying not to meet Haru’s gaze.

But he feels his eyes burning into him, nevertheless, as the others step outside, as he watches them go down the stone steps, and finally shuts the door.

They’re alone, they’re finally, finally alone—the thought barely registers in his head before he’s bodily turned around, pushed against the door and being kissed to within an inch of his life.

"You-you didn’t have to do that for me," he gasps when Haru pulls away, out of breath. "Make up that dinner thing, I mean."

"Who said I was doing it for you?" Makoto catches one glimpse of a heart-stopping smirk before he’s being thoroughly kissed again.

This time, the kiss is slow and languorous, as they take their time to map out each others’ mouths. Makoto digs his hands into the dip of Haru’s back, almost tipping him back as he sucks lightly on his tongue. But Haru’s knees almost buckle, and Makoto feels a thrill of pride at being the one responsible for it.

He straightens up, and leads Haru by the hand to the nearest armchair; Haru pushes him down to sit, and climbs on to perch on his lap, knees bent on either side of him. They kiss again, and this time Makoto’s hands latch onto him.

He can’t get enough of touching Haru; of the feel and taste of his skin; and his hands run over every inch of his body he can reach while his mouth moves down Haru’s neck, lapping at his clavicles.

Haru clutches his shoulders tighter, and inhales sharply—there’s something about licking that’s always made him weak. (Probably the moisture.) When Makoto pulls back for a second, he takes the opportunity to get his bearings again and push Makoto back against the cushions.

He doesn’t really look Makoto in the eye as he begins to work on his buttons, cheeks reddening. But when Makoto reaches out to touch him, he swats away his hand and mutters, “No touching till I say so.”

Honestly speaking, Haru isn’t really good at this—his fingers, usually so deft and graceful, shake slightly as he clumsily undoes his buttons.

But it’s all for him—Haru could strip off all his clothing in the blink of an eye, even compete with Rin to see who could undress quicker, but this? Eyes averted, cheeks flushed, trembling fingers slowly exposing himself? Only Makoto can see him this way. It sends a thrill down his spine straight down to his groin, and his trousers suddenly feel a whole lot tighter.

"God, Haru," he groans, clutching the arms of the chair tightly. Haru’s naked chest is no new sight to him, but there’s something about the way Haru is stripping for him—and holy god, did he just roll his hips?—that has him painfully hard in minutes.

After what seems like a lifetime, Haru shrugs off his shirt with a smooth roll of his shoulders; it flops down to the floor behind him. Biting his lip, he takes Makoto’s hand and places it over his heart.

Makoto doesn’t need any more encouragement; pulling Haru closer in his lap, he runs his hands greedily all over his torso, mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, his shoulders, and over his chest.

Haru wraps his arms around Makofo’s chest, trying and failing to hold back low whimpers of pleasure that send all of Makoto’s blood rushing southwards. Tipping Haru back a little, Makoto licks his nipples, proceeding to suck one of them while teasing the other with his fingers.

Haru lets out a loud moan with abandon, and immediately claps his hand over his mouth, red in the face.

"Haru, I’m sorry, I got a bit carried away—"

Haru shuts him up with a finger on his lips. “Stop apologising, idiot,” he murmurs. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulls out a strip of condoms.

He hands it to Makoto, face turned away again. “Do what you like with me today,” he mutters.

"H-Haru," Makoto gasps—surely Haru didn’t realise how that sounded? But it’s always been these little things that Haru would subconsciously do sometimes, not even intending to, that would drive him crazy.

It wasn’t too often that Haru let him fuck him either, because one of the problems of having a boyfriend a bit too well-endowed was that swimming the next day ended up being more than a little uncomfortable. So this is all too much to take in at once, and for a few moments Makoto can only stare dumbly back at Haru.

"But first, wait," Haru murmurs, and slides off Makoto’s lap to kneel on the floor.

Makoto watches him, eyes wide, as he sets to work on his zipper, pulling it down. Is this really happening? If it is, he must be the luckiest person that ever lived, he thinks, no competition, as Haru pulls down his boxers—just the friction enough to make him groan in pleasure.

His erection springs out, and Haru takes it in his hand, stroking it roughly a few times. As he bends closer, he licks his lips, and only the sight of that is nearly enough to make him come right then and there.

Haru parts his lips, a soft exhale over the head of Makoto’s cock sending a full-body shiver through his body right down to the tips of his toes. Makoto watches, breathing heavily, as Haru’s mouth opens wider, wider—

Of course, because this is Makoto’s life, this is when his phone begins to ring in his pocket.

Haru glares up at him—the effect ruined somewhat by the fact that his face is currently centimetres from Makoto’s cock—the implied “don’t you even think about answering that” as clear as day.

"H-Haru, sorry," Makoto gasps, gently pushing his head away. But no one usually calls him around this time, and his overactive imagination has already started to think up all kinds of terrible scenarios—the twins missing, Nagisa caught in an accident, his dad having a heart attack—

Haru scowls, and sits back on his heels.

Makoto fishes his phone out—caller ID says it’s coming from his house.

"Hello?" he says, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Makoto," his mother’s voice answers, and she doesn’t sound like anyone’s at mortal peril, thank god. He leans forward in his chair and lightly thumbs Haru’s cheekbones in apology. "Are you at Haru-chan’s house?"

"Yes, I am—everyone threw a party for me," Makoto answers, looking fondly down at his boyfriend. Haru’s still pouting, but his cheeks are tinged pink again. "It was wonderful."

"Really? That’s nice… What I called to tell you was, my brother and his family are coming for dinner tonight. They haven’t celebrated your birthday in a while, and since this time they’re in Iwatobi, I thought it would be nice to invite them!"

"Ah—is that so," says Makoto. He feels awful that he can’t sound more enthusiastic about it, but with Haru half-naked on his knees before him and a pack of condoms lying on this thigh, maybe he could be excused.

"Of course Haru-chan is invited, too!" his mother offers—and Makoto unconsciously sits up straighter.  _Guilty conscience_. She’s always been a smart woman, and she must have picked up on the fact that he didn’t want to leave his boyfriend. He only hoped her intuition skipped most of the details, though.

"I will!" says Makoto warmly, though he’s feeling less than enthusiastic—dinner with Haru just inches away from him, but in the midst of company, like forbidden fruit, would probably be infinitely more painful than not having Haru anywhere near him at all.

///

He wasn’t wrong.

"Goodnight, everyone!" he calls to his aunt and uncle and his little cousin sister, as they make their way down the stone steps outside the house. He shuts the door behind him, and promptly starts to feel like a terrible person again because of the sigh of relief that almost escaped him.

But every moment of sitting next to Haru at dinner, being able to fucking  _smell_  him, feeling the pack of condoms in his pocket, watching Haru’s hands and mouth move out of the corner of his eye, and their fingers brushing together from time to time have been driving him steadily insane.

"Dad, I’m going to Haru’s for a bit," he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager. "Just left a video game halfway before we came."

"Now?" asks his father uncertainly, checking the time. "It’s quite late, maybe you boys can continue tom—"

"Oh I think that’s a great idea, boys!" says his mother suddenly, coming in from his kitchen and giving them a blindingly bright smile. She links her arm through his father, and turns her smile so him. "Don’t you think so too, dear?"

"Oh— _oh_ ,” he says, realisation dawning on him, and Makoto has never in his life been this embarrassed. Not even close. “G-Go ahead then boys!”

"We—We’ll just go then," Makoto mumbles, taking Haru by the hand and heading towards the door, because he doesn’t think he can look his parents in the eye right now.

"Yeah!" calls his mother after them. "And be… careful, won’t you?"

"We’d better not have to ever speak of this again," Makoto mutters as they leave the house, and Haru chuckles lightly.

They walk down the steps to the shrine in silence, both of them suddenly aware of what’s invariably to come. When they arrive at Haru's door, he unlocks it and once they’re in, locks it behind him.

They look at each other for a long moment, then reach for each other at once.

There’s a desperation, an urgency about them, as they stumble towards the living room, Haru’s legs wrapped awkwardly around Makoto’s waist, arms slung around Makoto’s neck.

It’s far from being the most comfortable position, but he knows Makoto won’t ever let him fall.

Makoto stops at the kitchen table, drops Haru gently to the ground, and rubs his arms. “Sorry, Haru,” he laughs, “You’re heavy.”

"Here is fine," Haru murmurs shortly, backing up against the table and pulling a surprised Makoto in for a kiss.

Fingers fumbling as he tries to get Makoto’s shirt off him as quickly as he can, Haru steps back to sit on the table and pull Makoto into the V between his legs. They keep kissing all the while, breaking it only to pull Makoto’s shirt over his head and off somewhere on the other side of the room.

Hands roaming across the broad expanse of Makoto’s chest, Haru scatters hard, wet kisses over it, paying attention to each of his nipples in turn. Then abruptly, he gets to his feet and turns Makoto around so he’s the one leaning back against the table.

Before Makoto can even realise what’s happening, Haru is on his knees before him and his trousers and boxers are halfway down his thighs.

Haru doesn’t lean in slowly, teasingly this time; tugs at Makoto’s cock a few times before running his tongue expansively over the side from the base to the tip.

Makoto’s gasping even before Haru takes him in deep—everything he does feels inordinately good, from his tongue dipping into the slit, working at the sensitive junction of his head, the warmth and wetness of his mouth, and his fingers lightly scraping his balls.

It’s all too much and Makoto’s been too hard too long, so suddenly, embarrassingly soon, he finds himself on the brink of orgasm.

"Haru, wait, I’m close!" he cries, squeezing his shoulder. The condoms are burning a hole in his pocket, and there’s no way he’s letting this opportunity go.

Haru pulls away, wiping his mouth as he stands up. Taking Makoto’s face in his hands, he brazenly kisses him, till Makoto’s taste is on both their lips and he’s going fucking crazy.

"Why can’t you push me away like a normal person?" Haru mutters, before leaning back to kiss him again, dizzyingly hard.

When they’re out of breath, Haru pulls back and draws out the pack of condoms from Makoto’s back pocket, making sure to very deliberately fondle his ass in the process.

"Lube," Makoto murmurs distractedly as he kisses Haru’s neck; it’s upstairs, in Haru’s bedroom, and the thought of having to go that far sounds more than he can handle right now.

But if he’s ever been thankful for Haru’s miraculous stripping abilities, he is now—because suddenly Haru is naked in front of him, pressing a jar of lube into his palm and calmly reaching for Makoto’s belt.

"H-Haru," Makoto blurts out; there’s no way he will ever be able to do this without getting ridiculously flustered. "Is it okay if I—?"

Haru gives him a withering look as he pulls Makoto’s trousers and boxers all the way down to the floor. Straightening up, he bends over the table with his ass in the air, looking back over his shoulder with one eyebrow raised as if in challenge.

Makoto swallows thickly at the sight, and pours some of the lube onto his palm. Warming it by rubbing his hands together, he brings his fingers to trace a circle around Haru’s hole. Haru’s breath catches, almost imperceptibly, as the circles begin to progressively spiral deeper and deeper, till Makoto comes to the sudden realisation he’s already stretched and prepared.

"Haru, you—" he gasps, voice so dry he can hear it cracking. His fingers plunge easily deeper inside Haru, and he’s probably being a bit rougher than he should, but  _Haru probably spent several minutes with his fingers up his ass that morning before school, was stretched and lubed all day right next to him, and it was all for him_ —and Makoto can’t think straight anymore.

"Haru, I’m—" is all he can manage as replaces his fingers with his cock, and buries himself inside Haru to the hilt.

Bending low over Haru, Makoto places one hand over Haru’s on the table and reaches for Haru’s cock with the other. Pressing open-mouthed kisses on his shoulder, he starts to jerk him off till his body relaxes around him.

"Haru—" he groans, "I’m gonna—I need to—move…"

He isn’t sure, but he thinks he hears a frustrated huff, and suddenly Haru’s angling his hips, raising himself up on his elbow and fucking himself backwards on Makoto’s cock.

Makoto doesn’t need any more hints—gripping Haru’s hip, he slams right into him.

They start a rhythm between them, Makoto snapping his hips forward and Haru backwards, impaling himself on Makoto’s cock. Makoto angles his hips, searching for that spot he knows drives Haru crazy—a few experimental thrusts, and suddenly Haru’s shouting out in ecstasy—and he knows he’s found it.

He keeps hitting that spot every time, and this is when Haru goes utterly limp in his arms, and Makoto starts to fuck him harder, wilder, spurred on by his cries of pleasure. But Haru’s so loose-limbed right now he’s almost slipping off the table, so Makoto straightens up, turns Haru around to lay him back down on the table, and enters him in one smooth motion again.

Haru’s completely gone, head flopping back as his hands scramble for purchase on Makoto’s shoulders. Makoto leans closer to messily kiss him again, and reaches for his cock.

It takes no more than a couple swift strokes, till Haru’s whole body clenches around him, tightening around his cock, and with a wordless cry Haru’s coming all over his stomach.

It’s the look of bliss on Haru’s face that finally sends Makoto over the edge; with a few final jerky thrusts, he rides out his orgasm inside him.

For a long time, they stay like that, Makoto slumped over Haru, both of them boneless and sated. Till finally, as Makoto begins to grow soft inside him, Haru lightly pushes Makoto off him. “You’re heavy,” he murmurs.

Makoto pulls out; suddenly, no longer in each other’s arms, they both slip to land on the floor together. Haru winces in pain, and they glance at each other—and suddenly they’re both laughing.

Shoulders shaking, Haru suddenly lets out a snort that has them laughing even harder. And they just sit like that for god knows how long, giggling ridiculously—till somewhere down the line, Makoto stops laughing and starts watching Haru instead.

Everything Haru does only makes him fall harder—how does he do it? But he can never get tired of watching him, especially not when he’s laughing like this, cheeks flushed and nose adorably crinkled.

He’s the only person Haru is comfortable enough to act this way, and that makes him feel so special and happy, he could float right off the ground.

Before he knows it, he’s leaning closer to kiss Haru. It’s a sweet, sweet kiss, and he hopes it can convey even an inch of all the things that Haru makes him feel.

"Happy birthday, angel," Haru murmurs against his lips.

Makoto flushes, and squeezes his eyes shut—he must have heard that wrong, right? But Haru leans in to kiss his eyelids, and Makoto is filled with warmth right down to the tips of his toes.

At that moment, the condom pack falls from the edge of the table onto Makoto’s head, and Haru snorts, and the moment is over.

Haru picks it up, and studies it. There are still five unused condoms in there, and Makoto can practically see the wheels spinning in his head.

"How many rooms do I have in my house?" he wonders aloud.

Makoto flushes to the roots of his hair. “Haru, what are you th—”

Haru shuts him up with a kiss, pulls him to his feet, and tugs him off towards the kitchen.

 

 


End file.
